A MINNESOTA BASS. 



E. W. NETTLETON. 



The season had been very cold and back- 

 ward, and the fishing poor. I was longing 

 to try my new quadruple reel, when a 

 messenger boy stalked into my office about 

 10 a. m. one morning the latter part of 

 May, and handed me a telegram, which 

 read, "They are biting; will expect you to- 

 night, sure, Will." 



Will is my old fishing chum, and I had 

 been waiting for days to get a favorable re- 

 port from him. I got out my paranhernalia 

 and looked it over once more, to make sure 

 I had missed nothing. At 4 p. m. I boarded 

 a train on the St. Paul and Duluth road, 

 bound for Lindstrom, on the chain of Chi- 

 cago lakes only 49 miles from the Twin 

 Cities. I was happy in the anticipation of 

 a day's sport on the morrow ,/ith those 

 game fighters and royal fish, th. large 

 mouth black bass. 



On my arrival I found Will had all the 

 arrangements made and we were to go to 

 Sunrise lake, 3 miles from town. The next 

 morning at 5.30 we were off, a.-d in a short 

 time were trying for our first bass of the 

 season. It was a bitterly cold morning, and 

 the outlook for getting bass was far from 

 promising. We had on heavy overcoats 

 the first 3 hours, and at times our hands 

 became so numb it bothered us to hold the 

 rod or work the reel. We first tried around 

 the shores, in the weeds and lily pads, 

 where we had on former occasions met 

 with good success, but we could get only 

 an occasional strike. By 8.30 o'clock we 

 were somewhat discouraged. We went 

 ashore, built a rousing fire, made some cof- 

 fee and cooked 3 small pickerel. 



Will also fried 

 a small, lonely 

 spring chicken he 

 had taken along. 

 The reason he 

 took it was that it 

 had been sick a 

 week or more, 

 and the good lady 

 who stood as god- 

 mother for it said 

 it would surely die 

 if it were not 

 killed. And so, as 

 I have said, Will 

 took it along. 

 He is an excellent 

 cook, while my 

 long suit is chop- 

 ping wood, carry- 

 ing water, and washing dishes. We there- 

 fore divided up, as usual. 



WILLIE AND THE SPRING 

 CHICKEN. 



After getting thor- 

 oughly filled up and 

 warmed up, we de- 

 cided to try the sand 

 bars and deeper wa- 

 ter. In crossing the 

 first bar, we each got 

 a strike, and Will 

 landed a 2-pounder. 

 but I lost mine. I 

 put on a fresh frog, 

 however, and coaxed 

 a fair sized bass to 

 the net. After cross- 

 ing that bar several 

 times we had 5 bass 

 on the stringer and 

 felt greatly encour- 

 aged. 

 me, as a horny- We tried several 



HANDED SON OFTOIL. m ° re baSS with VaI "y" 



ing success. At 3 p. 

 m. we had 16 bass, and decided to 

 quit. We started for the landing, 

 about a mile distant. I was in the stern of 

 the boat and let my line unreel, thinking I 

 might get a large pickerel by trolling while 

 crossing the lake. I had out fully 40 yards 

 of line when I got a tremendous strike and 

 knew at once I had some hard work cut 

 out for me. I worked the reel for all I was 

 worth, but had 

 not taken in much 

 line when a form 

 shot fully a foot 

 above the water. 

 He did not get 

 rid of the fatal 

 barb, and I turned 

 the crank harder 

 than ever. Three 

 times he jumped 

 before I got him 

 in where I could 

 handle him, but 

 all to no purpose, 

 as the hook was 

 firmly set. He 

 then went to the 

 bottom and sulked. When I 

 him in a few yards he took 

 tion to run, and I had to give him his way. 

 After several minutes of hard and exciting 

 work I got him close to the boat and Gus 

 Reed, our boatman, went after him with 

 the landing net, but made a mess of it and 

 failed to get him. He took a new lease 

 of life, shot directly under the boat and 

 before I could check him had takm fully 

 20 yards of line. Gus got the boat out of 



WILL GETS ANOTHER 

 BIRD. 



coaxed 



a no 



349 



